Hand Of Sorrow
by Unoriginality
Summary: Roy was very practiced at lying.


_"Please forgive me for the sorrow,_

_For leaving you in fear._

_For the dreams we had to silence,_

_That's all there'll ever be._

_Still I'll be the hand that serves you,_

_Though you'll not see that it is me."_

Roy Mustang was very practiced at lying. He had it down to a fine art, so natural he almost couldn't remember what it was like to tell the truth anymore. Truth was an ugly ally that he could never depend on to help him.

When he stood before the committee that was jury and judge for his crimes against the State, lying was the tool that he used to strike a deal that would protect his friends. The words slipped out easily, without thought, unflinchingly as he lied, told them that his subordinates had believed they were protecting the fuhrer, that they were merely obeying orders from their commanding officer.

He took all the blame.

He was stripped of his title and forced to enlist with promise to be stationed somewhere far away from contact with his cohorts.

They were free from blame. And free from his influence and damning presence.

The lies didn't stop when he left the council room, when she approached him with worried eyes behind a calm mask. He told her it was all right, that they bought the story that they'd all been there to stop Archer, that it was all a ruse that didn't succeed as well as they'd hoped. That they were all free from blame.

He'd become so good at lying that he fooled even the one person left that knew him best.

After this, he told himself, he wouldn't have to lie anymore. After he was gone, he could be free of lying, free of the watch that had been looped around his throat and used to direct him as the military saw fit. He would be left wherever he was to be stationed to rot until he was old enough to retire, then he'd find some place where he could be forgotten.

Roy went to her house that night. She was already in her night clothes, looking at him in confusion while trying to keep Hayate from escaping out the front door that she only had cracked. "May I come in?"

Riza didn't say anything, merely ducked down and pulled Hayate away from the door by the collar so Roy could step in without tripping over the dog. The door was locked behind him. "What is it, General?"

With a sigh, Roy sat down on the couch. "I'm turning in my commission," he said quietly, watching her face for a reaction. More lies. He was having it stripped from him.

Her masks dropped a bit, relaxing in the solitude of his presence. "Oh?" Fear flashed through her eyes.

He shook his head, immediately reassuring. "The government is changing to a parliament. There's no position to work for anymore, and as far as I'm concerned, mission accomplished, or close enough."

"And what will you do now, then?" She was dubious. She didn't quite believe him. For good reason- this seemed to come out of nowhere.

But he knew she wouldn't be able to disbelieve the logic of it. "I thought I'd start by being with you," he told her quietly. Something they'd never been able to do. A dream that had been set on a high shelf, just out of sight, slowly collecting dust. Something they both had wanted and never dared to have.

This would give them that freedom. He'd promised her that someday.

Roy Mustang always kept his promises.

Riza didn't react for a long moment, looking at him as if she were expecting something more, something else, maybe some condition or another promise of 'later', then her expression crumpled, her masks shattering under too many years of lies and nevers and maybes.

He pulled her into his arms, pet her hair, kissed her forehead. He whispered more lies, assuring her it'd be okay, that it was over finally. She was the one that kissed his lips, slipped her arms around his neck and clung tightly. He held her like a lifeline, never let go of her even as they managed to stumble their way to her bedroom, leaving a dejected Hayate locked out in the hall. Even as they wrestled from their clothing. Even as they fell onto the bed.

Heartbeats were frantic as skin slid against sweat-slicked skin, arrhythmically, desperate and bitter sweet and Roy never wanted to leave, never wanted it to be over, that last taste of fire in the blood, that one last breath before he disappeared beneath the surface, buried away wherever the military and his guilt left him.

Riza slept hard after that, curled up tight against him, fingers curled tightly around his. He waited a long time, listening to her breathe, watching her sleep, until he was certain he could slip away without waking her.

Silently, he got up. He redressed. Pulled the covers up under her chin. Left his gloves on her dresser.

Walked out and shut the door behind him.

The next morning, he turned in his watch and enlisted, shipped North with the rank of Corporal and without any sort of notice to any of the others. He left without a goodbye. Left lies behind him.

Roy Mustang was very practiced at lying.


End file.
